


Of Night and Light

by cakelocked



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gen, Introspection, M/M, Post-Canon, Soft Old Lads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 18:01:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21432400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakelocked/pseuds/cakelocked
Summary: Terror bingo prompt fill for the middle of the night.The expedition has returned home safe and during yet another party Francis has a moment of quiet contemplation.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier & Commander James Fitzjames, Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	Of Night and Light

**Author's Note:**

> Not the first prompt fill I've completed, yet the first I've uploaded.  
Let me apologise y'all for all the grammar mistakes since my usual (and only) beta did watch Terror with me but found it too depressing so I won't bother her with making her beta read any of the Terror stuff I write. If anyone else is interested, hit me up in the comments or on my [tumblr](http://www.starkkillerbase.tumblr.com)!

The night in England in winter was completely different as it had been in the Arctic. The hubbub of the party was barely audible through the closed doors. Francis drew in a long breath of more damp than cold air and raised his eyes to look up to the sky. His breath clouded slightly, but the cold was nowhere near what he'd endured during the expedition. He could see stars, but not so many as they had seen up North. Yet another, more subtle difference.

He leaned against the railing, noting that though cold, his hands were in no danger to freezing stuck to the metal. For the moment he was completely alone, or as alone as one could be in the middle of the city that buzzed with life even in the middle of the winter night.

The party was one of those organized by the admiralty to honour their return from the North. Their miraculous save was already hailed as legendary and the admiralty was very intent on mining every bit of good will and press out of it. Hence, the seemingly endless parade of parties. Francis had curiously enough found that he didn’t mind them so much anymore. After those hellish years and surviving scurvy, mutiny, whiskey and the murderous spirit bear, complaining about mere party or two (or four and counting, in this case) seemed a bit unbecoming.

Besides, his men had earned every moment at the spotlight. If it were up to him, they'd all been bloody promoted and knighted on their return. Still, it was enough to make his heart feel full to see bashful Jopson clad in his brand new lieutenant’s regalia being followed around by dumbfounded and starry-eyed newly minted commander Little. Irving had recuperated enough to attend as well, and was followed closely by Thomas Hartnell and Dr Goodsir in addition to varying members of the expedition popping in every now and then.

It had not gone unnoticed to Francis that James, contrary to everyone’s expectations (except maybe Francis' own), did not rejoice their limelight. Francis could not blame him, not after they had opened their hearts to each other on the ice; first, at that fateful walk to the cairn and after that every day bit more. Francis felt that he knew James better than he had known anyone before. And that man, the true man beneath the veneer that James Fitzjames had carefully cultivated, was starting to show to people. Francis didn't mind; he preferred that James. For some people who'd known the dashing commander Fitzjames before the expedition, the change took more time to understand.

After their return, there hadn’t been a day they hadn’t seen each other, and thus Francis was at the front lines following the sea change the other man was still going through. His own had been on the ice, giving up the drink for good and accepting the responsibility he'd been given as an undesirable legacy. James’ might have begun there on the ice, but it hadn’t ended there.

They'd been given some time to recuperate before debriefings and hearings had started at the admiralty. The court martial had been breeze through affair, a mere formality, and had barely taken up one day. After the formalities were concluded, the parties had begun. Francis had stayed first with the Rosses, before deciding that he wanted some time and room for himself. In truth, he was still figuring out who he was now, without the drink and most likely, without the navy. Francis certainly wasn’t the same man who had gone up north to… to do what exactly, he was still wondering. There was no hindsight or wisdom to be found in his actions, he had found.

He had rented modest rooms quite near the Royal Society. James had roomed with some of his old friends for a while before moving in with Francis. It had been deceptively unremarkable, for such a big decision. They both had reasoned that it was cheaper and more convenient to live together than it was to live separately. There were, of course, reasons that neither of them had said out loud but that were nevertheless very much there. The number of times one of them was awoken by a nightmare was still depressingly high. Having someone present who understood and had been there was such a comfort it had made Francis cry the first time it had happened. James had embraced him then, not letting go before they’d both fallen asleep leaning to each other sitting awkwardly on Francis’ bed. Francis had been there when James had been woken by his own terrors and returned the favour, and so they went on.

It was as though his musings had summoned James beside him. He looked sideways at James and the golden shine and finery of his dress uniform and turned then to look at the stars again. He did not know which shone more brightly.

James sighed and run a careless hand through his curled hair, leaving them in artistic disarray. “I cannot believe I am saying this but I have had enough of parties for a while.”

Francis grunted and raised his eyebrow, turning to look at James. “That coming from James Fitzjames? The situation must be dire indeed.” He softened his tone after noticing the drawn look on other man’s still too gaunt face.

After confirming they were still indeed the only people outside, he took half-step closer and bumped gently against James’ side.

“Shall we depart then? I believe we have been paraded around enough for one night.”

James chuckled and leaned against Francis, the action making Francis’ heart flutter.

He looked down at Francis for a fleeting second before turning to look at the stars. “Let us just stay like this for a while if you don’t mind, Francis.”

Francis hummed, closing his eyes for a moment against the onrush of feelings before he managed an answer, his voice soft.

“I do not mind at all, James.”

They stood there for a moment before James raised his hand and laid it ever so gently on top of Francis’. Francis let out a breath and had to close his eyes yet again. What he did next took more courage than he had ever needed, it certainly felt so. Very carefully not turning to look at James in case he’d lose his courage, Francis turned his hand over and laced their fingers together. He could feel James shivering before squeezing Francis’ hand back. There was no need for words as they stood together, gazing out at the night time sky.

**Author's Note:**

> This is in fact the very first Terror fic that I've actually uploaded anywhere. This fandom is so full of wonderful writers with such beautiful prose and incredible amount of historical research that I'm quite shook to be honest.  
The name of the fic is from one of my favourite poems (because I'm Basic like that) 
> 
> The Cloths of Heaven
> 
> Had I the heaven's embroidered cloths,  
Enwrought with golden and silver light,  
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths  
Of night and light and the half-light;  
I would spread the cloths under your feet:  
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;  
I have spread my dreams under your feet;  
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
> 
> \- W. B. Yeats


End file.
